1 The songs of praise were scarcely done,
Which magnified the Father’s love
In sending forth His only Son,
A perfect offering from above;

2 When He, the Lamb, unblemished, bright,
Snatched from the tyrant’s hands in time,
Amidst the silence of the night,
Sought refuge in a foreign clime.

3 For murder’s threatening shadow fell
On Bethl’hem, and the coasts around;
And scenes too sad for tongue to tell,
Were acted on that holy ground.

4 A voice was heard of those that mourn,
A piteous plaint, a clamor wild;
The infant from its mother torn,
The mother wailing for her child.

5 ’Twas heard in Ramah long before,
When Rachel, bending o’er the dead,
Bemoaned her children now no more,
Refusing to be comforted.

6 O dark and lamentable day,
That saw fulfilled the prophet’s word,
The lamb-like victims dragged away,
And slaughtered by the tyrant’s sword.

7 Yet they were blest; that shining band
First in the martyrs’ army stood;
Fair spring flowers, nipped by Herod’s hand,
Torn from the stem, baptized in blood.

8 Then, mothers, cease your mourning tones;
Resign in faith what God hath giv’n;
And count your parted little ones
His jewels treasured up in Heav’n.